midsummer and supersymmetry
by sparklingplum
Summary: a partner for each. i/r
1. Chapter 1

i/r. soc. introspective.

 **happy midsummer and supersymmetry**

day 1

("we don't wait for the world to revolve our way," he says, a physicist, stuck in his feet on the ground but eyes up there, past the mountains, past the stratosphere, _there_ , far and away and looking at _things_ : gas, globs, bursts, collapses, spirals, explosions, bright colors –it's not a fucking void, he reminds her stubbornly and she answers patiently, yes, yes, you told me. _Things_ , she thinks, a model, _that are_ _incomprehensible_ and "because we have to make it happen ourselves?")

Her memories (most of) consist of fenced gardens and British Airways and studying in various fashion houses and hatsumode during the New Year whenever she returns to spend the holiday and violet tulips blooming mid afternoon and the taste of warm super-berries tea and the paper-y, whiskey-filled smell of his study room where he's a dedicated husband to his papers on SUSY; his marriage vow is to be accepted in the most distinct nuclear research/think tank in the whole world.

(however, she watches Hamlet even if she could not understand it, she takes interest in King Lear even if she hates the story, and goes to find an unpolluted night sky to stare at)

His memories consist of muted beige walls, sunlight, a ceiling to floor glass window, shelves and tables –all filled with books and papers and laptops. He knows very well the tick tock of the clock and the perfect radius and speed of light and Standard Model and everything in between his waking moment to the exploding supernova so many light-years away and that's all.

(however, he's fond of the smell of freesia and taste of peach and feel of winter and sometimes, he sits by the city bus stop, bundled in his non-designer clothes, looking at the billboards and glass ads)

They find themselves on the roof of his house, under the stars, Ichigo and Rukia, celebrating their _marriage_ , signing their asses to each other because nobody else would. The at-forty-if-I'm-not-married-you-know-what-to-do thing, except that they did it at 29, they made the promise at 17 when they were best friends.

"I'll divorce you once you find _her_ ," she says: so, so sure. She holds up a glass, the regular cylindrical kitchen dinner table one. So pretty and small and petite and black-haired. _Her_. Her refers to someone else.

He'll never understand satin or dresses or jewelry or photo-finish make ups or what she gets from posing or walking or getting her face in print works as a job. The superficial vanity irks him, all bones and dusts wait in death, fuck the fake enhancements and its definition, it disillusions, bare and imperfections are fine. So he doesn't understand, her eyes are bright enough, so what the fuck are these colors? Her lips are red enough, why put crystals in them? Her body is enough, he can't think of anything to improve in her. (he never told her the brightest star he saw was not among the ones that twinkle at night)

"Likewise," he says: so, so sure as well, opening a bottle of Dom Perignon and pouring it on his glass un-iced and handing the bottle to her like saying, _pour it yourself_.

The boredom in his work irks her, constellations and stars, she'll never settle with someone like him, and really: you're born too early to go out there, if this is your dream, you'll die unaccomplished, she used to say, and: what's with the math? And he'd defend it like his life depends on his next equation (and in some way, maybe it is, and maybe hers too). He told her math is the language of everything, and she told him to kindly _shut up_.

But she never met someone as passionate as him, intensely loyal (to numbers and equations) and real and dedicated and that's why, she came back at his door, bags and all, passport and different country visas torn and all to make sure she'll never leave. (then she hugs him and tells him: I'll marry you, you idiot, so you won't be much of a loser)

Or, because that's easier to say than: I fucked up, I'll die lonely, can you accompany me as long as you can?

An hour later, her surname changed, without a single question from him. (he is as selfless as she is selfish)

"I don't like what you do, Rukia, leave it," he says timidly but not: it kind of destroyed you, and: what happened?

"Oh no, don't go all husband on me," she answers with a bitter laugh, "this is temporary and I just quit, remember?" after taking a sip, she looks at him, there's nothing really off about him, "in my world, you'll be ravished," she comments, taking his eyeglasses off, squaring his face with her hand and pushing his shaggy, bright orange hair, and staring into his eyes, "but the stars already own you."

She comments not on his clothes which consist of oversized and mismatch sweaters, stained inner shirt and maroon pants, they don't, however, give a hint of what it's like inside. He notices her looking, "I don't have time to dress up fancy when I'm busy thinking."

"I didn't say anything," she answers and let go of his face.

(they never kissed and she is sure he has never been kissed)

It's the marriage night, as real as it gets. It's on the roof of his townhouse with two ordinary glasses, a bottle of champagne they picked up on the way back, and only the moon to stare back at them.


	2. Chapter 2

** **퍼엉**

 ****christopher poindexter***

 **midsummer and supersymmetry**

day 14

Hadron collider and MK don't really belong together; like lemon in white tea and cinnamon in raspberry tea; suede ankle booties in the rain and stilettos in gravel; Stella Artois _and_ _then_ hazelnut coffee –all these, Rukia knows; she knows and _what_ and _what_ agree and don't agree.

But Stella and midsummer rain _do_ agree. Oversized sweatshirts and his oversized ruffled bed do agree as well. Rukia –bundled in brown oversized sweatshirt- rolls over his bed side to side to side, lazily watching the midsummer rain pound against his windows covering one side from wall to ceiling. In between scorching days of summer heat, the lumps of gray clouds are as if waving a pleasant hello, and Rukia welcomes them like a rain-lover would.

(he lives in an apartment too high and close to the sky; at night time, he's most alive and the world is discernible. At morning, it's the brightest thing possible and she's not very fond of the sunlight streaming through the glass. He, however, _appreciates_ the speed of light)

For two weeks, she had been quiet and he had been kind. He understands silence, the words between closed lips and actions in the spaces between the fingers: pot of brewed coffee with vanilla and cream; blanket when she's sleeping; a greasy large burger when she feels like not eating; aired laundry; the large armrest for her in the open air gallery of his sky-high apartment. He leaves her be.

Marriage is like learning how to **count infinity with four hands*. Ichigo is not big on the romantic side, no flowers or chocolates, it's like she hadn't marry at all and she's fine with it; she never really expected any form of romanticism. What she wants, after all, is just companionship. There is no need to count to infinity using four hands.

And what do physicists know? Love is like an eternally expanding unsolvable algorithm with no patterns, therefore, _inconclusive_. And what do people like her know? Love is a carry-on luggage that can be dropped off anytime. Like Hadron collider and MK; like lemon in white tea and cinnamon in raspberry tea; like suede ankle booties in the rain and stilettos in gravel, he and she don't really belong.

Her (his) bed is warm and huge and empty and sometime between the slow trickle of the rain and _she_ slowly slipping into sleep: half-dreaming and half-drunk and half-awake, she feels an added pressure on her bed and one warm large hand enclosing on her own tiny hand.


	3. Chapter 3

**midsummer and supersymmetry**

day 18

"I've watched old films while you were working, 50s neo-noir crime films, and yes, yes, Singing in The Rain, because you can't really appreciate the 50s without that-"

Most conversations between them are one-sided.

"-have you eaten breakfast before we left? I made pancakes-"

Mostly, it's her who talks–in a rough voice but not as loud, a domineering blend of power and femininity, and entirely regal in her own way. He doesn't forget: she came from an entirely regal family: beautiful and powerful and wealthy –like perfection in display.

"-butI think I forgot to add flour-"

Ichigo likes to look at her, and does not know how to describe her. A person's heart is as only as big as his clenched hand, a person's mind can stretch far before it snaps, a person's physical body has a biological end, so things like her, _things_ –things that are never ending- can't possibly fit there, or accommodate it, or analyze it; because how do you start studying _everything_? He looks at her and he thinks of the limitation of his mind and the size of his heart, he looks at her and he thinks of the things that he knows: he feels so natural, _he's sure_ , so ordinary, so normal around her. (maybe that's enough to describe her)

Rukia walks beside him, very pretty in thin white dress, her _now_ short hair tousled –the summer wind blows more than lightly sometimes- she wears a brim hat to keep them in place and her ankle boots make no sound against the pavement. She walks slow, as he is. And her talks continue, more of silence-breakers than attempts at real conversations. This, as everything else about her, is fine with him.

The almond blossoms lining the streets are beginning to bud; the mid-morning pleasant sunlight draws out the kids to play and the cats to nap out in the sun-streamed alleyways and the adults to be productive; the string of downtown shops is as colorful as ever.

The local laundromat smells wholly of soapy fruits and flowers. The cafe –Ichigo is reminded of bagels and cream cheese and chocolate chips and brewed coffee- _the cafe_ , Ichigo makes a mental note: maybe if Rukia wants, he could take her there for lunch after their chore. It's Saturday. And it's grocery day.

. . .

Ichigo stops at the chips and popcorns corridor, contemplating about his choice of tasty slow-killers while Rukia is in the frozen section.

He remembers: a black and white movie at 12 midnight; an empty tub of popcorn; a fur blanket. She likes simple things. Never grand, never expensive, so he takes tubs of gourmet popcorns (strawberry cheesecake for her and mint-chocolate for him.

He thinks of joining her in her late night movies.

(he's really been waiting for her to come back)


	4. Chapter 4

**midsummer and supersymmetry**

day 18 – afternoon

Certainly, like the dark side of the moon and deep freeze and the first star of the universe, there are things that are hard to understand like:

"Did you just put cucumbers slices on your strawberry sundae?"

Rukia, so pretty and so lithe and so airy, stares at him like he's a lunatic, one elegant eyebrow raised, "sorry?"

(Ichigo makes good with his offer of lunch out, and she agrees without hesitation)

And so she sits beside him, on a single curved couch spanning half of the small, circular table, the windows behind them, the sky above had turned a wispy shade of blue and white, warm light streaming through the boxed windows, making his tea and her blood orange juice shimmer.

"Did you just-?" Ichigo chokes, the oddness in it, what is that like?

"Hmn?" Rukia prods, putting her first spoonful of strawberry sundae with a cucumber slice in her mouth, and smiles –he assumes the taste would be- just as pleasantly.

"What? I like cucumbers, other women put them on their eyes or sun exposure, but me, I just eat them."

Ichigo doesn't know what she's talking about, about cucumbers on the eyes or sunburns, but he's listening anyway. "I can't decide actually, kind of like these two together and so…"

Ichigo just finished his lunch: pot roast and green beans and potatoes, and is finishing with a cup of warm tea. Rukia ate so much; every bit of this and that in the menu, crepe and almond nuts in salted-caramel ice cream and now her second round of dessert, strawberries and cucumber. Ichigo glances at the brown bags beside her, maybe he should have gotten more food stuff for her.

"Ichigo-" there's something really earnest about him, Rukia thinks, he's so un-disturbing, and _really_ patient it's _very_ absurd and he picked this quiet corner of the café with a quiet French music playing in the background and she remembers how brooding and intimidating he was back in school and he's just really, really different now.

"-what do you think of today?"

Ichigo feels gauche –and disorienting- and strange even, he just stares at Rukia, amber eyes behind black-rimmed glasses unblinking. What a strange question, he thinks.

Ichigo shifts slightly on his side of the couch, and says quietly, "That's a strange question, Rukia."

 _Oh_. "You mean, stranger than black holes and moons and just these – these, explosive things in the sky and numbers and equations?" Rukia puts another spoonful of sundae and bites a cucumber slice, "sorry, I don't know how to describe them."

Ichigo laughs –actually more likely a combination of half-cough and half-chuckle, but air passed through his nose and mouth and that's still considered a laugh, Rukia should applaud herself for that.

"Just normal answers, no jargon you hear? Just…" Rukia continues, twirling her spoon on its little china ice cream plate, "…what do you think of today?"

Ichigo glances around for a minute, and thinks of the different shades of the sun spreading in the café and thinks of her violet eyes and how it glimmers in the sun, too.

"It's sunny."

Rukia expected as much, but it's a start though. Rukia realizes, the past days were quaint yet too silent, Ichigo had been kind and quiet and understanding and there are many important other things they have yet to talk about like her suddenly appearing on his doorsteps and things currently going on with him. Rukia knows –realizes- how they don't say much to each other, and perhaps, _what do you think of today?_ is a nice start.

"I think it's an okay kind of day, but yes, it is sunny."


	5. Chapter 5

i/r. soc. introspective.

 **happy midsummer and supersymmetry**

day 18 - night

Movie night: all classics and 1940s; gourmet popcorns and quilts and dim nightlights.

Rukia is actually surprised Ichigo chooses to leave his wife and children [SUSY and extrasolar planets] for hours and joins her tonight in watching Mr. Bailey and his wonderful life.

(wonderful; as in as wonderful as Ichigo coming out of his room in white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and dark green pants; as wonderful as his appearance lighter and easier than in any other day; as wonderful as apple slices and orange juice and pineapple bits –fresh)

She makes room for him –he has a tiny loveseat that is probably older than him- scoots closer to the side, but he shakes his head. "I'll take the floor," he answers quietly and slumps on the floor leaning on her couch.

"Oh?" Rukia asks. She herself is draped in quilt and underneath is a thin, oversized white polo shirt.

(that's alright, Rukia thinks mildly, he's a boy and boys are supposed to be chivalrous)

There are several unopened Stella Artois on the small table at the corner (hers, he doesn't ask). And beside them are popcorns and variety of snacks. He takes a tub and casually eats.

Sometimes she forgets: they are married.

(the movie starts to plays: an old reel of people toothily smiling, Rukia hugs her tub closer)

There is Ichigo. And what to make of him?

The first of it, though, is that she is not in love with him. (not like the way lovers do, no no no no no, not amorous, not passionate, there is a form of betrayal in it, and she would like to spare her heart) But she loves him like the sunrays in a bedroom, like firebugs in the trees at night, like lazy waves the ocean make in the afternoon –quiet and patient and natural and safe.

The clearest of it is that he is reliable: a steady, guiding hand when she walks down the stairs; insists on carrying and holding an umbrella; gives her comforting food; opens the door when she knocks, a kind kind kind person.

The most terrible of it is that he seems to love her.

"What?" Ichigo asks, returning her gaze, his eyebrows raise questioningly. He is boyishly handsome.

"Stella. Can you-?" She says, a smile on her lips –which he probably couldn't see.

Ichigo turns wordlessly and reaches out for a bottle and opens it. He hands it to her softly saying, "your arms are short. I get it."

"Oh?"

 _Oh_. Rukia spends a little more time deciphering that little comment. Maybe: there is humor there and a lot of undiscovered depths.

The movie continues and they sit in silence.

(this night could be the first of her good memories of him)


End file.
